City treasurer and mayoral candidate Susan Leal was squinting into the hot morning sunshine and talking with conviction about her family safety plan. Afterward, pausing to soak up the warmth, she said, "We should really be heading to the Ramp, have a Bloody Mary, get a little heat on."

The libation fantasy quickly dissolved. With 56 days left before election day, Leal -- whose dry wit and thirst for fun is matched by a flinty determination -- knew she had hands to shake and policy positions to make. She had countless stops, at senior centers, youth programs, community forums. She had questions to answer, grillings to smile through: About taxes and trees, street lights and schools, homeless and home prices.

"My job is such that I'm probably not that well known," she said, cursing herself for eating from a bag of potato chips offered at a campaign stop. "So, I need to work a little harder. If I get invited somewhere, I try to go."

Last week, on what was billed as a typical day on the campaign trail, Leal, 53, zigzagged across the city and back. The afternoon saw her in an edgy part of the Mission District, her voice competing with the vibrating sounds of a boom box outside. Later, she stood in the living room of a Pacific Heights mansion, framed by an Ellsworth Kelly painting and guests sipping chardonnay or San Pellegrino with lime.

Wherever she goes, pausing occasionally to run a brush through her thick dark hair and apply a fresh coat of Bobby Brown lipstick, her message is the same. To Leal, it's all about seizing and creating opportunity.

She tells anyone who will listen that her parents, hard-working Mexican immigrants, didn't graduate from high school; that she earned an economics and law degree from UC Berkeley, worked as a fraud investigator on Capitol Hill, helped grow a small health care company from four employees into a publicly traded firm and now manages nearly $3 billion in city funds.

"I am living proof this is a city of opportunity," she said at the Sunset Senior Center, as more than 100 Asian men and women concentrated on steaming lunches of chicken, rice and bok choy.

"I do believe this is a city of opportunity," Leal told a group of girls taking a break from math and essay writing at an after-school program.

"I was born and raised in this city," she told a group of environmentalists at the Randall Museum. "My campaign is about making this city a city of opportunity again, being able to be a kid again, raise a family, however your family is configured."

Leal believes her financial acumen and record in the public and private sectors make her uniquely qualified to create new economic and educational opportunities for the city and its residents. It is her resume, she says, that will set her apart from the other major mayoral candidates: Supervisors Tom Ammiano, Matt Gonzalez and Gavin Newsom; attorney and former Supervisor Angela Alioto; and former Police Chief Tony Ribera.

At Mission Girls, a nonprofit center that offers tutoring programs to some 50 girls between the ages of seven and 14, Leal talked about her family and her job. She has been a supporter of the program since the early 1990s.

Just as she did not shed her pinstripe suit jacket before entering the room,

her voice remained unchanged. She addressed the girls as adults. Later, she would explain that she doesn't believe in dressing or talking down to get people to rise above.

"My parents impressed upon me to be very serious about school," Leal told the girls. "What I want to impress upon you is never let anyone tell you you can't be something."

Several girls in school uniforms thrust hands into the air to ask questions.

Eight-year-old Jennifer Robles asked Leal, "What do you like about your job? What do you dislike? What is the easiest thing about your job?"

"I like getting things done, saying, 'Oh, this is the problem,' and then fixing it," Leal said. "What I don't like is when things move so slowly. You sometimes feel people took a slow pill. The easiest thing? Lunch."

When the girls were asked what they would like the next mayor of San Francisco to do for them, several mentioned cleaner streets.

"And, you need drivers to stop at red lights," said 11-year-old Brenda Sandoval, who then asked, "Can little kids vote?"

Leal laughed and said no, but added, "Your parents can vote, and you can tell them what you think."

A few hours later, at a candidates' forum held at the Randall Museum, Leal sat on a brightly lit stage and was peppered with questions, about trees, parks and landscaping.

"As someone who grew up here, I believe in parks," she said when asked whether she would support a landscape assessment tax.

"There's a tree in front of my house which I maintain," she offered when asked about how to improve the quality of the city's trees.

"I believe it's a great concept, but it couldn't be enforced," she replied when asked if citizens should be fined for not removing graffiti from their property.

Afterward, back in the car, she rolled her eyes.

"The questions," she said. "You get every conceivable question."

Next stop was a fund-raiser at the Pacific Heights home of San Francisco philanthropist Roselyne "Cissie" Swig.

Lowering the visor in the front passenger seat, Leal checked her makeup. Plumbing her purse, she exclaimed to her driver -- a young volunteer named Carlos Colon -- that there was a crisis.

"What's the format?" she asked her campaign spokesman Tony Winnicker. The question had been repeated throughout the day. Winnicker would tell her the crowd and the amount of time she'd have to speak. Occasionally, he offered talking points.

Walking into the foyer of Swig's home, Leal was greeted by the hostess and a tuxedo-clad waiter. She eyed the chardonnay but opted for a San Pellegrino. Not far away was her "boss and life partner," Susan Hirsch, who advises families on making philanthropic donations.

"Susan has a stability that I appreciate," Swig said of Leal. "Anyone who listens to her understands her commitment. She speaks to issues of quality of life, education, economy, security, women's issues and gender issues."

It was after 8 p.m. and there were still two more stops.

First, a meeting of the Raoul Wallenberg Jewish Democratic Club, where she would mention that her life partner is Jewish, that she has been to Israel and that she fights "anything that smells of hate." Finally, she would meet with the Young Democrats club.

When it was her turn to address the group, she walked in and declared, "Time to cheer. I'm your last candidate of the evening." The group broke into applause.

On her way home, she learned the Young Democrats had endorsed her. The Jewish club did not endorse a candidate.

Slowly, her thoughts turned to less lofty things. She wondered aloud about dinner. "I'll probably have a bowl of cereal," she mused. "Then to bed."

Her next day on the campaign trail would start at 7:30 a.m. at the Balboa BART station and end after 9 p.m. at a meeting with the Lakeside Improvement District.